Causey Arch, Co DurhamCausey Arch, Co Durham: reproduction wagon
I’ve known about the Causey
Arch for as long as I’ve known anything about railway history.
It always appeared in the textbooks, often in unlikely-looking engravings, but was not much visited because until the 1980s it was neglected and not very accessible.
It’s an outstanding piece of industrial archaeology because
it was, at the time it was built, 1725-26, easily the longest single-span
bridge in Britain, 102 feet between the abutments and eighty feet above the
Causey Burn.
It can also claim to be the world’s first railway bridge, carrying
a wooden tramway conveying coal from Tanfield Colliery to the River Tyne 5½
miles away.
An earlier bridge had collapsed as soon as it was completed. Indeed the stonemason of the existing arch, Ralph Wood, was so nervous about the strength of its replacement that he killed himself before it was completed.
A reproduction of one of the wagons is displayed at the
site: these wooden wagons, with wooden
wheels running on wooden rails, were controlled by a disconcertingly basic
wooden brake.
Friction sometimes caused the wheels and brakes to catch
fire.
Wagons loaded with 2½ tons of coal rolled down the
“main-way” grade by gravity, retarded by horses, which hauled them back to the
pit empty up the opposite track, the “bye-way”.
Nine hundred wagons a day traversed the line – one every
twenty seconds crossing this great masonry arch which seems to have had no
parapet.
By the magnitude of the arch and the volume of its initial
traffic we can judge how much money was to be made from Durham coal in the
eighteenth century.
Its heyday was shortlived.
It declined after Tanfield Colliery caught fire in 1739.
Though it was listed grade I as early as 1950, it was
neglected until the local council restored it and developed its surroundings in
1980.
Since the Tanfield Railway began regular services to the station beside the Arch in 1991, it has become an easy and popular focus for walks in the area.
Tanfield Railway: Andrews House Station, Co Durham
By an accident of signposting, my visit to the Tanfield Railway [https://www.tanfield-railway.co.uk] began at East Tanfield which is perhaps not the best place.
I later discovered that Andrews House station is where the
party’s at, not least because it’s within walking distance of the Marley Hill
engine shed, where there’s lots to see.
The station building at East Tanfield is the very welcoming
Tommy Armstrong Tea Shop, its tables impressively laid out with fine-looking
china. Coffee and pastries are in
abundance, and they’ll even sell you a train ticket, written by hand.
However, there’s a noticeable lack of what the heritage
industry calls “interpretation”.
Even the timetable is occult, possessed by knowledgeable old
geezers squinting at sheets of A4 paper which they fold and stuff
surreptitiously in the pockets of their anoraks.
You can, of course, ask the station staff. Like freemasonry, knowledge here is acquired
by degrees.
Trains appear when they’re good and ready, and they’re worth
waiting for.
This is a no-nonsense coal railway, partly dating back to
around 1720, which allows it to claim to be “the world’s oldest railway”.
It operates sturdy little tank engines, such as would, in
times gone by, heave long trains of coal wagons out of the local collieries.
The passenger carriages are mostly four-wheelers that don’t go “diddly-dee, diddly da” but rather “clunk, clunk” – Victorian equivalents of the notorious Pacers, but much more elegant.
It’s always heartening on a volunteer-run railway to see
engine crew who look not a day over twenty.
The passengers are mostly older than twenty – serious
enthusiasts who know what’s going on, and couples with glum-looking dogs which
would rather be chasing sticks than catching trains.
There’s a trackside footpath, useful for photographers who
wait, tripods set and cameras ready, to capture the seldom-spotted tank engine.
The place is a delight. Everyone is friendly and unrushed. And the roast pork breadcakes are
superlative.
This is an intriguing place, a medieval hill-top castle
documented from 1256 and for centuries owned by the Ricasoli-Firidolfi family,
who sold up only in 1968. The interiors,
on the ground floor at least, are entirely baroque, with an unrestored patina
of faded splendour.
We were treated to a cookery demonstration by the chef,
Elena, who spoke only Italian, translated (or perhaps explicated) by the
hostess Geraldine, who extolled the quality of the Castle’s extra virgin olive
oil, which we were invited to smell and taste.
We were shown how to make an Italian stew, which seemed to me exactly how I would make an English stew with Italian ingredients.
The pasta-making demonstration was more entertaining, and a
great deal of pasta was passed hand to hand around the group.
We were invited out for antipasti
on the terrace, where a classical wing of the house (with a medieval turret on
the end) faces a flat lawn and a wall, from where expanses of hillside
vineyards are visible.
No sooner had we wandered outside than a misty rain began to
fall, and within ten minutes the waitresses shifted the antipasti back into the castle and a loud clap of thunder heralded
a downpour that lasted no more than half an hour.
We tucked into the antipasti
indoors while Geraldine gave lectures first on the Castle’s white wine and then
on the rosé, all the time pouring wine into everyone’s glasses and interrupting
her flow with “I’ll fetch another bottle.”
There was no sniffing or spitting.
This was a straightforward invitation to get trollied.
We weren’t formally shown the downstairs rooms, but instead
trotted off to the cellars which are tricked out with barrels and racks of
bottles.
Geraldine took us from the cellars to a surprise – a tiny,
intact private theatre, dated 1741, complete with perspective scenery and a
balcony. I can find nothing of any
significance about it online, and I’ve never come across it in the
theatre-history literature.
Indeed, I wonder if its provenance and history have been
seriously researched. It is at any rate
a great rarity.
A three-course dinner followed, liberally lubricated with
red chianti and a dessert wine. I sat
back from the conversation and watched the sunset through the trees outside the
window.
Then predictably, “pat,…like the catastrophe in the old
comedy”, came the buying opportunity. My
fellow guests queued up to buy bottles of wine and olive oil, while I sat in an
armchair and watched.
Eventually we began the journey back, of which the first seventy minutes were simply a succession of hairpin bends and a few small villages. We joined the motorway south of Florence, and it took another three-quarters of an hour to reach our hotel in Montecatini Terme.
I reflected on the considerable appeal of the Castillo di Meleto. It’s now owned by a joint-stock company and you can stay there, at rates which are high but not outrageous. However, it’s so remote that it would be impractical to go anywhere: it’s simply a place to enjoy, with extensive gardens, an infinity pool and a restaurant down the drive for lunch and dinner: https://translate.google.co.uk/translate?hl=en&sl=it&u=http://www.castellomeleto.it/&prev=search.
Cemetery of St Michael, Rivelin Valley, Sheffield: chapel interior
On the north-western outskirts of Sheffield, a short walk up the Rivelin Valley from the Supertram terminus at Malin Bridge, a gateway leads to the Roman Catholic cemetery of St Michael, opened in 1862 and still in use: https://www.saintmichaelscemetery.org.
After the Catholic Emancipation Act of 1829, the first
parish church in the area was St Bede’s,
opened at Masborough on the then outskirts of Rotherham in 1842. It was followed by the parish church of St Marie in Sheffield (1850), now the
cathedral of the Diocese of Hallam, and another large church, St Vincent’s (1853 onwards) was started
in The Crofts, an overcrowded area north of the town centre where Irish
Catholics settled after the Potato Famine.
Of these, only St Bede’s had a burial ground, until in 1862 the priest at St Vincent’s, Father Burke, purchased eight acres of steeply sloping land in the Rivelin Valley from the snuff-manufacturer Mr Wilson, whose family had also provided the land for the General Cemetery nearly thirty years before.
The cemetery, with a temporary chapel, was dedicated on Michaelmas Day, September 29th 1863.
The present chapel was built in 1877, financed by a gift of £2,000 from the Sheffield tailor and gents’ outfitter, George Harvey Foster, and designed by the father-and-son practice Matthew Ellison and Charles Hadfield. This new chapel is 72 feet long and 22 feet wide, built in the Early English style. It has an apsidal east end, a sixty-foot-high bellcote above the west door, and the south-west porch is embellished with a statue of St Michael slaying Satan as a dragon.
The interior, restored in 2005, is distinguished by the work
of an impressive group of contemporary artists.
The marble and alabaster altar, with its figure of the dead Christ, is
from the Cheltenham workshop of the sculptor Richard Lockwood Boulton.
Further decorations were funded by a gift of £430 by the Foster family in 1884 – wall paintings by Charles Hadfield and Nathaniel Westlake, who also designed the west window, and the three east windows designed by John Francis Bentley, who later became the architect of Westminster Cathedral, and manufactured by Nathaniel Westlake’s stained-glass company, Lavers & Westlake.
The two most prominent monuments in the cemetery stand above
the family vaults of George Harvey Foster (1829-1894), and the department-store
proprietor, John Walsh (d1905), respectively gothic and neo-Classical and
constructed within a decade of each other.
The sharp gradient makes exploring the cemetery a strenuous
activity, and visitors are advised not to stray from paths because gravestones
may be unstable.
Higher up the valley side are two more burial grounds, a
very small Jewish cemetery and the Church of England Walkley Cemetery, both
opened in 1860.
Quentin Hughes’ 1964 study of Liverpool’s architecture, Seaport, begins with the inimitable
sentence, “The quality of Mersey is not strained”.
The book, reissued in 1993 but now out of print, is
illustrated with atmospheric monochrome photographs taken just before the
decline in the North and South Docks became terminal.
Nowadays, you can see where the great port started by peering through a porthole in the pavement of the glitzy shopping centre, Liverpool One, to glimpse part of the Old Dock, built by the pioneering civil engineer Thomas Steers (?1672-1750) between 1710 and 1716.
Steers’ career is shadowy, simply because the historical evidence
is vague about his achievements. He came
to the north-west from Rotherhithe, and constructed the Mersey & Irwell Navigation (1721-25), the Newry Canal in Ireland (completed 1742) and much else, perhaps more
than is now recorded.
In Liverpool Steers was commissioned to build the world’s
first commercial wet dock, using lock gates to provide protection from the
tides so that boats remained at a constant level for convenient loading and
unloading.
He adapted the natural inlet on which the port had
developed, building a substantial twenty-foot-high brick wall directly from the
bedrock to enclose a 3½-acre stretch of water large enough for a hundred
vessels.
The whole project was made possible because the borough
corporation had bought the manorial rights from Lord Molyneux in 1672.
Costing £12,000 – twice Steers’ estimate – it was a huge
gamble which paid off and laid the foundations for Liverpool’s dominance as a
port that grew rich on the notorious triangular trade of cotton, rum, sugar,
spices and slaves.
By the beginning of the nineteenth century the Old Dock became
too small to be useful and was badly polluted by the sewage of the surrounding
streets. It was closed in 1826 and
filled in.
On the site the architect John Foster Jnr (1786-1846) built his magnificent domed classical Custom House (1828-38) which was gutted in the 1941 Blitz and, regrettably, demolished soon after the end of the War: http://liverpoolremembrance.weebly.com/the-custom-house.html.
At the time of the Millennium the redevelopment of Liverpool One provided the opportunity to retrieve part of the site’s archaeology, so that visitors can see the literal foundations of the port on escorted guided tours arranged by the Maritime Museum: https://www.liverpoolmuseums.org.uk/maritime/visit/old-dock.aspx.
For details of Mike Higginbottom’s lectures on Liverpool architecture, please click here.
The launch took place in the fly tower of the Abbeydale Picture House, and Darren
asked me to explain to his guests the history of this unique piece of cinema
heritage.
The Grade II listed Abbeydale Picture House was always a gem
among Sheffield’s suburban cinemas, and thanks to a succession of sympathetic
owners it’s survived to entertain new generations of patrons nearly a hundred
years after its opening.
One of six Sheffield cinemas to open in 1920, its original
proprietors were local businessmen, led by a professional cinema exhibitor,
seeking to capitalise on the demand for entertainment after the First World
War.
They hedged their bets by instructing the architect, Pascal J Steinlet, to build a full-scale theatre fly tower, enabling the cinema screen to be flown out of the way of stage performances, and to use the sloping site to include a ballroom and billiard hall beneath the auditorium and stage, with a café to serve cinema patrons on the first floor above the foyer.
The directors considered that moving pictures alone might
not generate enough trade, and when post-war inflation ate into their original
budget of £50,000 they changed plans and installed an organ by the Sheffield
firm Brindley & Co.
Because Pascal Steinlet had not been briefed to include an
organ chamber, the instrument stood immediately behind the screen, centre
stage, making it impossible to use the stage and dressing rooms for
performances.
Anxious to generate income, they opened the cinema as soon
as they could, on December 20th 1920.
The Lord Mayor, Alderman Wardley, attended the first film-performance, a
costume romance, The Call of the Road,
starring Victor McLaglen.
Their fear that film alone would not support the company
proved correct. In June 1921 the
original board was replaced by the directors of the Star Cinema, Ecclesall
Road, who quickly took out debentures to complete the café, ballroom and
billiard hall before the end of the year.
In 1928, probably as a response to the imminent arrival of talking
pictures, the organ was moved to the back of the stage, where it was barely
audible, to make way for cine-variety performances, which continued until the
first sound film, Janet Gaynor in Sunny
Side Up, played on March 10th 1930.
The organ continued in use until 1940, and the last
organist, Douglas Scott, complained that “the volume was poor, due to the fact
that the organ chambers were placed as far back as possible on the stage and…at
least 20% of the sound went through the stage roof. The screen and tabs took their toll of sound
and when the safety curtain was lowered nothing could be heard in the theatre.”
There’s evidence for this on the back wall of the fly tower, where two rows of holes for the joists of the stage floor are visible, the higher row showing a clear gap where after 1928 the organ would have stood on the original stage floor. The position of the organ meant that only the downstage half of the stage was usable, so presumably the rake was altered to maintain the sight-lines Pascal Steinlet had intended.
I hope that when the building is comprehensively restored
the stage floor will be reinstated so that it can be used for performances.
But I’d think twice about reinstating an organ.
Mike Higginbottom’s book, The Abbeydale Picture House: Sheffield’s premier suburban cinema, has 56 A5 pages in full colour.
To purchase, please click here, or send a cheque for £10.00 per copy payable to Mike Higginbottom at 63 Vivian Road, Sheffield, S5 6WJ. Contact: 0114-242-0951 or 07946-650672 or mike@mikehigginbottominterestingtimes.co.uk
Former Hull & East Riding Co-operative store, Three Fishes mosaic, Hull (2016)
The Hull & East Riding Co-operative Society, having lost
its flagship store in the severe blitz of 1941, was determined to rebuild in
the city-centre as soon as it could.
A temporary “pre-fab” store opened in 1947, and the
Co-operative Wholesale Society’s in-house architect, E P Andrews, prepared
ambitious plans for a prestige building at King Edward Square, the intersection
of Jamieson Street and King Edward Street.
It took from 1955 to 1964 to complete – five retail floors
and on the roof the Skyline Ballroom and restaurant, where Jimi Hendrix and
Pink Floyd played beneath the dome.
The store’s signature feature, filling the corner façade, was a ‘Three Ships’ mural by Alan Boyson (1930-2018), 66 feet × 64 feet, consisting of over a million glass tesserae, completed in 1963.
It depicts three trawlers to commemorate the city’s fishing
industry, their masts spelling the name “HULL”, over the motto “Res Per Industriam Prosperae” – “Success
through Industry”.
The Jamieson Street store was closed in 1969 and the front
part sold to British Home Stores – a brand that itself came to a sticky end in
2016.
When BHS folded Hull City Council bought the building for redevelopment, with the expressed intention of retaining the ‘Three Ships’ mural if possible, along with two rediscovered interior murals by Alan Boyson, ‘Fish’ and ‘Sponge-Print’.
Though the building had been added to the Council’s
non-statutory local list in 2007, and was placed on the Twentieth Century
Society’s Buildings at Risk list in 2017, Heritage England declined to list it
Grade II in 2016 because it “falls short of the high bar for listing post-war
public art”.
In April 2019, Hull City Council firmly committed to retain
the three Boyson murals, but six months later, reversed their decision to keep
‘Three Fishes’ because its concrete sub-structure contained asbestos and would
“pose a risk to public safety” if dismantled for restoration.
Apparently, the Health & Safety Executive would require
the entire building to be wrapped for demolition and the rubble taken away as
contaminated waste.
Then, in a sudden turnaround at the end of November 2019,
the Department of Digital, Culture, Media & Sport awarded the mural Grade
II listing.
Hull City Council was not pleased, having resolved to
recreate the image photographically on the replacement structure.
Hull Heritage Action Group, which had campaigned in support
of the Boyson murals since 2016, hoped that the Council “will do the right
thing”.
Such U-turns often show long-term benefits. Chesterfield would have lost its fine market place if the Peacock Inn hadn’t turned out to be a fifteenth-century structure rather than a grubby Victorian pub.
And politicians who “do the right thing” can expect to gain satisfying amounts of political capital.
The 80-page, A4 handbook for the 2016 ‘Humber Heritage’ tour, with text, photographs, maps and a reading list, is available for purchase, price £10.00 including postage and packing. To order a copy, please click here or, if you prefer, send a cheque, payable to Mike Higginbottom, to 63 Vivian Road, Sheffield, S5 6WJ.
Chesterfield, by its name, clearly dates back to Roman times, and a short-lived fort is thought to have existed somewhere near the site of the medieval parish church of St Mary, the famous “Crooked Spire”.
The town had a regular market by the year 1156 and gained a
charter in 1204. A street grid developed
around a huge market place, the eastern part of which was later infilled by
alleyways known as the Shambles.
Its mercantile past is marked by street-names that commemorate
ancient trades – Packer’s Row, Knifesmithgate, Saltergate and Glumangate (from
“gleeman”, a minstrel, indicating the Tin Pan Alley of medieval Chesterfield).
The open market place, with its stately iron pump, was bordered by fine Georgian inns and shops and, in 1857, embellished with a Market Hall that included an assembly room, a post office, a corn exchange and a tall clock tower.
Sir Nikolaus Pevsner dismissed this pompous pile as “the
crudest show of high Victorian prosperity” and by the 1950s it indeed looked
past its best – grubby and shorn of the ogee top to the tower.
In 1964 the Borough Council commissioned the Hammerson Group
to redevelop the entire area, and they proposed a covered precinct that would
have obliterated the market place, the Market Hall and the Low Pavement shops
to the south.
After the Council approved this proposal in 1972, uproar
followed.
A petition against it attracted 34,000 signatures, and a
letter to the Derbyshire Times by a
twelve-year-old schoolboy, David Ellis, led to the formation of the
Chesterfield Heritage Society which served a High Court writ on the Council,
asserting that the Hammerson scheme “would not be in the financial interests of
the town’s ratepayers.
Low Pavement already included a number of listed buildings when an arson attack on the derelict, unassuming Peacock Inn revealed that the building was in fact a three-bay timber-framed structure dating from c1500 with an impressive tie-beam roof with curved wind braces, which was hurriedly listed Grade II.
In the face of the crescendo of opposition Hammerson Group
chose not to sign the development agreement.
The Council then executed a widely praised policy U-turn and
commissioned the distinguished practice Feilden & Mawson to survey the area
covered by the Hammerton scheme, while the Department of the Environment listed
nearly sixty structures.
This led, with strong public approval, to The Pavements development, which retained the facades of Low Pavement while stripping away the burgage plots behind, building a brick-faced multi-storey car park, turning the Peacock Inn into an information centre and renovating the Market Hall and reinstating its 30ft dome.
The lead architect, Bernard Feilden, commented the Market
Hall might be called ugly “but it has been saved because it is so essentially a
part of Chesterfield”.
A more hard-headed argument in its favour was that
renovation cost an estimated £250,000 less than demolishing it and building a
new replacement.
Meanwhile, the Shambles area, itself threatened by a comprehensive redevelopment by Lloyds Bank Property Ltd but championed by the Chesterfield & District Civic Society, was given conservation-area status which protected the sixteenth-century Grade II*-listed Royal Oak pub.
The largely completed scheme was opened by the Prince and
Princess of Wales in November 1981.
Within a period of little more than five years Chesterfield was transformed. Instead of gaining a covered shopping precinct that destroyed the historic core, the town retained its scale and its open spaces, conserved and improved for the future.
And the borough’s politicians, having abandoned what must
have looked like a good deal in the 1960s, could pat themselves on the back for
being in the forefront of the sensitive environmental thinking that Prince
Charles has championed in the years that followed.
City Road Cemetery, Sheffield: Catholic Chapel of St Michael (2014)
When the very last Sheffield tram came off the streets in
October 1960 an assiduous member of its load of enthusiasts made sure that, as
the gates of Tinsley Tram Sheds closed behind it, its destination indicator
showed ‘CEMETERY GATES’.
The cemetery gates at which Intake trams sometimes turned back was City Road, established by the newly-formed Sheffield Burial Board on a site east of the town-centre purchased from the 15th Duke of Norfolk in 1881.
The original buildings – Church of England and Nonconformist
chapels, a gateway and lodge on Manor Lane and a gatehouse and offices on City
Road, all in late Perpendicular style – were designed by the Sheffield
architects Matthew Ellison Hadfield & Son.
The initial apportionment of land was between the Church
of England (slightly over 20 acres), the Nonconformists (13 acres) and the
Roman Catholics (7 acres), leaving 9 acres to allocated as required in future.
There was no Roman Catholic chapel at the cemetery until 1898, when the Duke of Norfolk commissioned a design with a hexagonal sanctuary and a central lantern above the altar, 60 feet long, by Matthew Ellison Hadfield’s son Charles. Dedicated to St Michael, the foundation stone was laid on July 22nd 1899, and it was consecrated on October 11th 1900.
A subsequent resolution by the Burial Board allowed the
space in front of the chapel to be used for burials of Catholic clergy, and it
became known as the Priest Vaults.
In 1901 Sheffield Corporation, having taken over the
functions of the Burial Board the previous year, gained legal powers to
construct one of the first municipal crematoria in Britain, and commissioned
Charles Hadfield and his son Charles Matthew Ellison Hadfield to design an
octagonal structure alongside the Nonconformist chapel, based on the Abbot’s
Kitchen at Glastonbury so that the steel exhaust from the cremator could pass
through the Gothic lantern which provided light and ventilation to the space
below.
Charles M E Hadfield’s bronze catafalque was constructed
by the Bromsgrove Guild of Applied Arts and installed in the chapel, and a
columbarium was installed in the south side of the City Road entrance range.
The crematorium opened on April 5th 1905. The first cremation was of Eliza Hawley of
Upperthorpe, on April 24th 1905, in the presence of her family, the architect
and the Town Clerk. A further six
cremations took place in the following six months to November 1905.
The Church of England chapel was demolished in 1982, having been made redundant by the construction of a modern chapel to the north of the crematorium. All the other original buildings on the site remain, though the Catholic Chapel has been derelict for years.
For Mike Higginbottom’s lecture ‘Victorian Cemeteries’, please click here.
One of the destinations on the Unexpected Liverpool (June 1st-5th 2020) tour is the iron church of St George, Everton, which I first visited so long ago – in 1978 – that I could photograph on the opposite side of the road the Catholic Church of Our Lady Immaculate, the only vestige of Edward Welby Pugin’s Catholic Cathedral to be built in 1853-6.
Our Lady Immaculate was knocked down in the early 1990s but
there are still other significant buildings to see in the vicinity of St George’s.
Almost directly across the road on a triangular site is Everton Library (1895-6), a bold, varied but taut freestyle design – a blend of Jacobean and Arts & Crafts – by the versatile Corporation Surveyor Thomas Shelmerdine (1845-1921) who, between 1871 and 1912 built several other branch libraries and the grand Hornby Library in the city centre, the ponderous gates to Sefton Park, the fire station and tramway offices at Hatton Garden, another fire station at Kirkdale, several schools and a couple of colleges and a tactful extension to the Town Hall. He laid out St John’s Gardens once it was decided that the Anglican Cathedral wouldn’t be built there.
A few yards from the Library stands the lively, turreted half-timbered The Mere Bank public house (1881), bristling with terracotta panels and plasterwork, and until recently still trading, though they haven’t updated their Facebook page since Hallowe’en: https://www.facebook.com/MerebankPub.
In the distance, and visible for miles across the Mersey, is Everton Waterworks (Thomas Duncan, 1853-7) [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OTRfHTX0bJE], which consists of an underground reservoir and a Piranesian high-level water-tank, 90 feet above ground-level, holding 2,700 gallons, dwarfing the two Italianate pumphouses, built to provide a head of water in the time before 1891 when Liverpool took its water from Lake Vrynwy in mid-Wales. Everton Waterworks has been long disused, yet a mystery buyer purchased it for £71,000 in March 2019: https://lbndaily.co.uk/mystery-buyer-pays-70000-evertons-victorian-water-tower. It remains to be seen what they plan to do with it.
For details of Mike Higginbottom’s lectures on Liverpool architecture, please click here.
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